24/02/2016: Little Worlds

(Yet another sestina. Enjoy!)

Down Onepu Road, the sky is high and bright,

And stretches like it might swallow you whole.

‘Twixt horizon and horizon, naught but blue as far as eyes can see,

And neat bungalows heaped row ‘pon row.

In the summer heat, the road is broiling, and the cicadas are chirping,

And the wind carries the smell of distant waves.

 

Down Onepu Road, you can hear the clapping of waves –

Or maybe my imagination is running away with me under this bright

Blue sky. Mothers with strollers walk, children charmingly slurp

Ice lollies, as I try to find a way to say how mole

Blind I am, beneath the blueness of the sky, bringing me low

And lifting me high at once, higher than you can see.

 

Down Onepu Road, blue is all that you can see,

Bluer than ice, bluer than loneliness, bluer than waves

That slowly eat the shore, piece by piece, that lap against the prow

Of ships in little boy hands, their sails open and painted bright

Colours. But that is mere fancy. The whole

Of what I see is the sky; so huge my eyes are hurting.

 

Down Onepu Road, the ocean has appeared and it is cupping

The road before us, so that it looks like we might fall into the sea.

Its blue is darker than the sky; that is pale, lovely, whole

Blue. Before us lies blue tinted with green, black and hints of gold from waves.

Already I can smell the amniotic saltiness of the sea, taste its bright

Coldness, a sensation in this heat I long to know.

 

Down Onepu Road, a cloud crosses the sun, soft as a pillow,

But it does little to cool the day; rather it acts as a storm warning

(The day, hot and humid, seems to promise storms under the too-bright

Sun) Though the sky is clear as far as we can see;

Perhaps not a storm warning but storm hope, for something aside from waves

To cool us off. The heat continues, feels like it might burn us whole.

 

Down Onepu Road, we finally reach the beach; soft sand, a whole

World to explore. Surfers glide along in rows,

Testing the limits of their bodies, their balance, and the waves,

And even they seem quieter; not even cicadas chirping

Now we’re here. It is cool, and blue, and beautiful, as far as can be seen.

The day is hot, the waves are cold, and down Onepu Road, all is bright.

 

Who knows what can be found where the cicadas stop chirping?

Whole worlds can be found in the smallest of places (if one has eyes to see)

Where the waves crash and the sky is bright, down Onepu Road.

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